


I'm so goddamn sick baby, it's a sin

by MystikSpiral



Category: Marvel - Freeform - Fandom, Marvel 616
Genre: Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Facials, M/M, Villain Steve Rogers, idk man this is fucked up, slight stockholm syndrome, whump tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystikSpiral/pseuds/MystikSpiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may look like Steve, he sounds like Steve but it isn't Steve—it can't possibly be his Steve. He feels nauseous again, but he’s afraid of showing any vulnerability that could allude to him being weak (despite being chained up and possibly playing at the hands of some grander scheme). He could possibly negotiate; maybe this Steve is a clone, but how?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm so goddamn sick baby, it's a sin

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not this started out as an innocent "make me" one liner prompt thing idk where this shit came from. But enjoy (; This isn't for the faint of heart please don't read if you don't like dubious consent and overall fucked up shit thanks. Beta'd by Morphia

Tony’s wrist is giving off a dull ache, rubbed raw from rusty metal chipping away layers of skin. Parts of his suit cling onto different parts of his body—the only sense of protection he has left. He’s aware that physically, it won’t provide any sensible form of defense but it’s the psychological concept that at least keeps his head up. His face is twisted and determined, he’s been staring at the same brick wall for hours, trying to formulate a plan, but his mind is blank with residues of shock.

He may look like Steve, he sounds like Steve but it _isn't_ Steve—it can't possibly be his Steve. He feels nauseous again, but he’s afraid of showing any vulnerability that could allude to him being weak (despite being chained up and possibly playing at the hands of some grander scheme). He could possibly negotiate; maybe this Steve is a clone, but how?

Tony’s thoughts are quickly interrupted; it’s Steve or what he presumes to be some clone of Steve again, sporting a black stealth suit and a cold expression. Hardened, unwavering eyes, but then his lips turn up into a playful smirk. He sits on his haunches, boots grinding in cement, rock and dried blood.

A hand grabs at Tony’s chin. “You are petrified. Look at you— _you’re shaking,_ ” not-Steve says, brushing the pad of his thumb against Tony’s cheek and looking at him. This time Tony doesn’t feel the sense of comfort he usually gets when Steve looks into his eyes. He feels sick.

“Even back home you weren’t this scared,” the man sits up, lifts his leg, and strikes Tony with a hard kick across his face. Hard rubber soles feel like being hit with a damn bat, pain blooms across his skin and he cries out in agony. Most of the agony stemming from the man that looks so much like his closest friend torturing him.

Tony spits a mouth full of blood and breathes heavily. The coppery taste worsens his nausea, but he fights to hold it in. Still, when he spits out another mouthful of blood, he finds it's mixed with some bile. A grimace stays on his face as he makes himself look away from the mess. His brain is running a million miles a minute and he has so many questions, but it all comes out like word vomit, much like his physical reaction.

“W-Who?—But _how_ —?” He tries but nothing comes out right.

“No, I am not a clone. Yes, I’m from an alternate universe. And no, I am not Captain America. It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Stark, and don’t worry, I know plenty about you.”

“S-Steve,” Tony forces out, his heart is feels heavier; what did the other him do to make him so sought after? He wants to ask but he’s afraid of the answer.

Steve’s eyebrows rise. “Yeah, that’s my name. Good job.”

Tony wants to roll his eyes at the sarcasm, and for some reason that triggers anger. This guy is so much like the man he already adores that it pisses him off that this man can so much as have the same damn name.

“The Avengers will be here soon and—“

“Save it, Stark. I’m not keeping you for long. I met another one like you by accident in another universe, pretty thing,” his voice trails off, and Tony closes his eyes to brace for another hit when Steve’s hands go up. Instead, a single calloused finger runs across his forehead. “He had a scar right here, drank like a fish, killing himself daily; broken. I almost felt insignificant; he had self-loathing down to a T. But you... You’re healing.”

Tony’s shaking uncontrollably now, wanting to lean into the touch, but instead, he pulls his face in the opposite direction and struggles against the chains a bit.

“Don’t be like that. I have something for you.”

Steve sits up, and Tony cringes at the pain of strands of his hair being pulled, forcing him to look up.

“You listen to every word I say, you can go home. And if I see you again it’ll be because you want me to.”

Tony barely listens. Why the fuck would he see this wretched man willingly?

“Answer me with a yes sir.”

Tony’s eyes downcast and he forces out a spiteful “yes sir.”

“Good. You always did do a fine job following directions, Mr. Stark.” Steve pulls out one of the folding chairs against the wall and sits a few feet away from him.

“Crawl to me.”

It’s only a few feet Tony would have to crawl. The chains are long enough so it’s possible, but he’s afraid of what’s next. His fingers itch to move forward. He wants to leave. And sure, he’s hanging onto to the comfort of his Steve in hopes that this is one big joke, but it’s wishful thinking.  

He gets on all fours, cracked cement and dried blood underneath his hands, and the feeling makes his skin _crawl._ His heart is thumping, but that’s a given. Steve’s looking down at him, as if putting him in his place.

When Tony finally gets into a position on his knees, his body is quivering and tears sting his eyes.

Steve grips his hair once more. “You are so beautiful.” His hands feel warm on Tony’s cold and clammy skin. “Unbutton my pants and suck my cock.”

Tony backs up in disgust. He feels sick to his stomach again, but before he can say anything, Steve yanks him back and slaps him harshly. Tony’s face stings.

“You sick bastard!”

“I didn’t ask you what you thought of me, I told you to suck my cock.”

“Why don’t you fucking make me,” Tony replies, venom lacing his voice.

Steve gives him a look of annoyance, running a thumb over Tony’s bottom lip gently. “Open your mouth and do what I say or I’ll force it open and rip out your teeth with pliers. Do I make myself clear?”

Tony nods hastily, eyes blown wide and tears falling down his face. Why isn’t Steve here to save him yet?

“Good boy. Don’t cry. I haven't used you yet.”

Tony closes his eyes in disgust, and As soon as he opens his mouth in the slightest, he can hear Steve’s zipper and the rustling of clothing. He feels the head of Steve’s cock touch his lips, and gently sticks out a tongue to taste.  He’s always wanted this, he thinks, stifling a groan, but not like this. Never like this.

He licks again and again. Soon, he’s sucking the head of Steve’s cock, and through half lidded eyes he looks up to see Steve’s staring back—more dominant than cold now.

“Relax your throat. If you work with me I’ll work with you.”

Tony nods, trying not to think about how it feels like he's a plaything for milking come. His stomach churns from the thought, but his cock stiffens. He relaxes his throat and feels Steve’s dick slowly sliding further down. Tony sighs and breathes through his nose as Steve begins pumping down his throat in steady motions. The pace gradually grows  harder, and Steve  is gripping either side of Tony’s head to keep him in place. Tony can barely breathe, but it’s thrilling as all hell. One hand is on the guy's thigh, and he’s still shaking, but the tears don’t stream down his face anymore.

It’s hard to adjust to the rhythm, but he does it eventually. Steve’s size doesn’t make it any easier, but fuck, he’s torn between slowly getting turned on and wanting this all to be over. He hates himself for this, knowing he won’t be able to look his Steve in the eye afterwards.

 _“Fuck,”_ Steve says breathlessly. It’s all he hears from the man, the rest is just heavy breathing and the ringing of his belt buckle.

Tony moans when Steve’s cock slowly pulls out of his throat- _so fucking big_ \- and his cock twitches. His thinking is becoming hazier, and if the prospect the danger had given him any more of a high, he’d be asking to be fucked—held down and told to take it all while crying and begging for mercy. The thought is disturbing, and he’s sure lust has overtaken his features. _God_ , what the hell is wrong with him.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Steve says, because he knows.

Tony feels the sting of disappointment, and then the calm of relief wash over him. Right now, he wouldn’t mind having his mouth full again. Tony opens it gently, and Steve laughs. “You're all the same. Damaged beyond repair.” The observation hurts, but Tony’s been aware of this for years.

Tony says nothing, keeping his mouth open and letting drool roll down his chin, not verbalizing how much he wants to be used, but still wanting. Steve shoves his cock back into his mouth, pumping in and out, and Tony moans at the texture hitting his tongue, the taste and the sensation that hikes up his spine.

It takes a few minutes but Steve is coming. He pulls out and it lands perfectly on Tony's face. Thick ropes, some lands on his lips and he tastes it eagerly.

“Your teammates will be here in a few minutes,” Steve says casually while buttoning up his pants.

Tony stills. Out of everything that’s transpired, this has to be the most terrifying thing of it all. His Steve seeing him like this... Steve walks off but his voice carries over. “I hope to see you again.”

Tony’s shaking harder again. The minutes pass, and when he hears familiar voices, his stomach finally gives up. He vomits.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
